


On The Mercy Of These Bones

by sian1359



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's found himself a home and new life in just about the last place he'd ever expected to end up: Las Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Mercy Of These Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



> My recipient made it easy; I always wanted to try a coffee shop AU. And I came up with so many notes. I won't promise another story in this 'verse, but I still have ideas ...
> 
> My dearest thanks to my dearest betas, whom I will identify after the author reveal. I couldn't do this without you.
> 
> Title from the song _Seven Days_ as performed by Kane

 

If someone had told Phil twenty months ago that he'd be driving down from Mountain Pass on Interstate 15 and thinking he was almost home when he could see the giant neon Indian chief head that denoted the divide between California and Nevada, not to mention that ghostly white beacon from the Luxor nearly forty miles ahead, shining up into the stratosphere, he would have asked them what they were smoking – and if they had any to spare. He would have possibly called them stupid. Definitely told them they were out of their mind. Settling down had been the last thing Phil had considered, expecting to be an Army Ranger until they forced him out or, more likely, killed him. After his time with the 75th Regiment, he figured he'd have become a MP or training instructor … that he would find some way to serve until he was forcibly retired, even with being gay. He'd always been confident that the government would change its mind regarding DADT before he changed his about serving. Once he was out, well, voluntarily _choosing_ to return and live in a desert had not ever been a consideration. He was a northern boy, born and raised, and if he wasn't going to return to his Midwestern roots, he'd always figured he'd settle in the northeast: Manhattan, DC, maybe even Boston.

It had been damn short-sighted of him to never have imagined he could end up medically discharged, especially after that had happened to Marcus. Short-sighted and damn arrogant, actually. As if Phillip J. Coulson was untouchable. Or so valuable that the Army would find a place for him regardless. Getting his arm shredded halfway up to his elbow from a grenade had certainly put paid to that. While there were amputees who'd been able to return to active duty – even an Army Ranger – they were all kids, not pushing forty. After eighteen months Phil was still considered in active rehab, though most of it now was for learning how to use his cutting-edge, prosthetic hand without shattering or letting drop whatever he was trying to pick up or hold.

At least he could drive by this point, could put in six hours behind the wheel to make the trip between Las Vegas and Santa Barbara. He was tired, of course, but not hurting. And since it was nearly midnight, the traffic was almost non-existent, so he also wasn't stressed. Part of that also could be attributed to his sweet ride, Lola, the cherry-red '62 corvette convertible he'd inherited from his Great Aunt Peggy, along with his new home -- and his unsought but surprisingly satisfying new profession.

Twenty-five years past, after Peggy had been gifted the SSR herself, she'd converted what had once been Howard Stark's _Secret Southwestern Retreat_ from an improbably large mansion tucked right behind the burgeoning Strip into a cafe taking up the bottom floor, with apartments built out of the second and third floors. As Peggy had before him, Phil lived in the only two-story apartment in the set of five, and rented the others out to students going to UNLV, most of who worked downstairs in between their classes. Managing students had turned out to be a lot like leading soldiers, and while his days now involved creating menus instead of battle plans, and the only combat he faced was in bidding against other buyers for the memorabilia he wanted to add to the WWII artifacts and souvenirs already giving the diner it's look, Phil was finding himself quite content with his new life.

The students made him feel young and old at the same time, and the regular customers he'd inherited from when Marcus had run the place for Peggy, as well as the new ones Phil had enticed on his own, had become friends, which was really why Phil was now starting to consider Vegas his home. If there was one particular customer/friend that Phil hoped might become something even more, well, Las Vegas was a city founded on wishes and luck. It made sense that Phil might want to roll those dice himself.

***

Rolling up to the parking lot that also housed a private garage for Lola as well as May's SUV, Skye's van, and Bobby's Mustang and room for maybe five more vehicles, Phil smiled as he recognized the dark sedan parked under a light pole, along with a trio of motorcycles parked up closer to the building. The motorcycles belonged to three friends from the VA, while the sedan belonged the local police precinct captain. Hopefully his fellow vets had only stopped by to see if any of Fitz and Simmons' culinary masterpieces had lasted beyond dinner, or one of them had had a craving for one of Trip's short-stacks, instead of Steve or Bucky having had a bad enough night that the other had called Sam. PSTD was a bitch, and Phil wasn't the only one with a prosthetic – or the only one who'd found Sam's flavor of counseling a lot easier to take than some of the licensed professionals employed by the VA. Even if Sam had been a Zoomie instead of bleeding Army green.

Knowing _he_ wouldn't sleep until he knew that Steve, Bucky and Sam were doing okay – and knowing that he'd get a ration of shit from Maria the next time she managed a dinner break offsite if he didn't go over and say hi – Phil simply dropped his kit inside his office instead of running it upstairs to his apartment. He was also curious to see who belonged to the Phantom parked next to one of the Metro patrol cars in the lot, since the SSR didn't normally get High Rollers stopping by in the middle of the night.

Darcy caught sight of him first, as she was restocking the authentic 1950s automat vending machines from the kitchen side. "Hey, boss," she called out. "How's the Dread Pirate Fury doing?" While she hadn't worked at the SSR while Marcus had managed it, her best friend, Jane, had.

"He just about pissed his pants from laughter when I told him I'd hired you this semester." Which had been true, but Marcus had also thought she'd be a much better fit than Raina had been, once Garrett and Ward had been fired (and arrested).

Darcy's hire had brought Jane back as a customer, and Jane, in turn, had brought her boyfriend along once his acceptance as a senior resident had been granted at UMC's Pediatric Level II trauma center, as neither of them had time to cook. Thor made even Mack look small, and often ate more in one meal than Phil did all day, even if it was always disgustingly healthy. His request for fresh organics was doing wonders for the diner's bottom line.

So, too, did Darcy's gourmet cupcakes, tarts, and muffins, as their tastes were usually just as enjoyable as the profits from them. Phil rarely bothered to find out in advance just what he would be tasting, and tonight was no different. He grabbed up one that had frosting so dark a purple it was almost black, not knowing if it was berry, grape, or even one of her spiced offerings, maybe this one made with eggplant.

He had not been expecting beet. Or the chocolate. And especially not the memory the taste brought up from when he'd been maybe five or six and visiting his grandparents' house. His grandmother had grown beets in her vegetable garden.

"Try skipping the chocolate next time, and use pecans sautéed in dark maple syrup," he suggested, not that this combination wasn't enjoyable with the cream cheese frosting.

"If you're okay with the costs of pecans, and I can pry the maple syrup out of Trip's hands, I'll make them tomorrow," Darcy promised. "Muffins or cupcakes?"

"Surprise me," he said as he stuck his head into the kitchen to nod his hello to Trip before moving toward the dining area. If he wasn't careful, between Darcy, Leo, and Jemma, the SSR was going to be discovered by some foodie, and end up overrun by hipsters and gourmands despite the obvious pro-military stance of its owner and employees.

"You should be heading to bed anyway, one last regular night's sleep before your vacation ends,"

Mack said instead of hello, as Phil came out to stand next to him behind the diner's counter to get a look at the late night crowd.

Jasper was sitting with Maria, the detective earnestly explaining something to her despite her attempt to shut him out and try to get her meal eaten before she got called back to the precinct. Also as expected, Jane and Thor were tucked back into one of the booths, doing more talking than eating from their half-finished plates. He couldn't see any of Sam's group from where he was standing, but two patrol officers were sitting at the end of the counter and blocking his view of the tables and booths just before the dogleg turn the dining area took.

"Besides, you're either too early or unlucky tonight. Your guy hasn't shown."

Phil had never been one to blush frequently, and sixteen years in the Army had pretty much trained him out of any involuntary tells. He still found his gaze dropping down to the countertop he'd rested his prosthetic upon, but only because Dum Dum Dugan's bowler hat was half covering Gabe Jones' recruitment photo instead of sitting neatly above Dugan's chevrons, bars, and medals.

"Sleeping during the day is my regular night's sleep," Phil reminded Mack as he released the lock to the proper Lucite display box that comprised the top two feet of the counter and began straightening up the Howling Commandos' memorabilia. "And I don't have a guy."

"Only because you're too chicken-shit to ask him out," Mack muttered before tacking on a "Sir" that was no more heartfelt than when he'd been a staff sergeant to Phil's first lieutenant.

"Oh, but there is someone else who is here to see you," he then added while giving Phil a shit-eating grin. "The guy who came in the Rolls out front. He's either still sitting in with tonight's stich-and-bitch, or is helping Skye get rid of a nasty computer virus Raina apparently left in our network. It's Tony Stark."

Phil might play a mean poker game, but even he couldn't stop himself from giving Mack a double-take.

Even if his father had once designed and owned the building,Tony Stark, unarguably one of the top five wealthiest men in the world, did not just stop by an off-Strip diner to chat with a bunch of vets who sometimes used handcrafts such as crochet or needlepoint to reorient their thoughts and focus -- or act as a random, handy IT guy. (Not that Phil didn't think that Skye wouldn't have asked; she was one of the bravest and most brazen people he'd ever met.)

In fact, from what Phil had been told during one of his own visits, Stark had only come by the SSR once after his parents had died. Back in '08. And only then because Peggy had ambushed him as he'd been given the Apogee Award at Caesars, as she'd managed to talk Colonel Rhodes into allowing her to be the one who presented it instead. From what she'd related, she'd then kidnapped him to show off how the only resemblance to Howard's SSR had been the exterior of the building, not so much seeking approval, but to give Stark an opportunity to see something of his father's that didn't have all the attendant baggage attached. Afterward, Stark _had_ then been instrumental in helping her get the building classified as a national historical landmark to stop Harrah's bid to annex and destroy the property through _eminent domain_ , but that had been Stark's last sojourn to Vegas.

Phil could still hear Peggy's disappointment when she quoted: _When Tony Stark wanted to gamble through games of chance instead of through invention or alcohol, he goes to Monaco._

That was probably the moment Phil decided he really didn't like Tony Stark, even without having met him, and despite Stark having apparently sent a private jet several times in the subsequent years before her death to get Peggy to visit him in Malibu.

It was only as Phil was walking away that he parsed the rest of the meaning of Mack's news about the computer virus. John Garret was just the gift that kept on giving, it seemed, despite being in jail. Despite being one of the guys Phil had actually gone through Basic with and had once considered a close friend. Phil had known that Garret, Ward and Raina had been thick as thieves, but he'd been quite surprised to discovered the guys had become real thieves. Although she had quit soon after, Raina hadn't seemed the type of person to exact some kind of revenge for what had happened, but obviously Phil's generally good judgement had failed spectacularly with those three. In another life, he might have let even the thefts go, but he'd learned the hard way that looking away put the burden of continued bad behavior on you; an error in judgement Marcus had almost paid for with his life. Plus, Phil really hadn't been given the opportunity to ignore Garret and Ward's black market scheming. Not when one of the Metro detectives ate here almost as frequently as Thor and Jane did. Undoubted an arrest warrant was already under consideration now for Raina.

The good thing, maybe the only good thing about being cyber-attacked, was that there was no way Raina was a better hacker than Skye (Phil was the only one here who knew Skye had once belonged the Rising Tide; the only hacker group who could give Anonymous a run for it's money). Phil doubted she'd really need Tony Stark's help, but he supposed that if _he'd_ had Skye's talents, he, too, would ask the guy who'd built the first (and only) AI to pass the Turning test with flying colors, just to see him work.

Phil needed to take only a few more steps to see exactly that: Stark and Skye with their dark heads bent over one of the tablets the wait staff used to place orders. While that was frightening enough on a superficial level, it was the guy sitting next to Stark on his other side, fingers deep inside of Bucky's prosthetic that had Phil fisting his own artificial hand in uneasiness. Although Bucky had lost his arm several years earlier than Phil had lost his hand, Bucky was normally just as uncomfortable with someone touching his prosthetic as Phil.

"Take it easy, Phil," Jasper cautioned as he stopped next to Phil instead of continuing over to pick up his and Maria's dessert from the vending area. "Or did you forget Bucky's arm is Stark Tech? The guy looking it over is Doctor Bruce Banner. Stark's favorite science bro, or so he was introduced. He's created a new synthetic skin comprised of sensors and nanotech that's set to revolutionize the field, and asked Buchanan if he'd be willing to be one of the first test subjects. Bucky said yes, so the doc's looking things over to see just what's going to need to be upgraded along with the exterior."

Phil nodded in acknowledgement and took a deep breath, motioning Jasper on and finishing his own steps. Sam caught his eye as he reached the table, no doubt able to read the same thing that Jasper had, though Phil had schooled his expression into something blandly pleasant. He gave Sam a shrug and a more natural smile, if rather a small one. Even with Banner having a legit reason to be poking around Bucky's arm, Phil wasn't comfortable, but of course it wasn't his place to put a stop to it or even say anything. It wasn't as if Bucky needed Phil's protection or outrage; not when he had Steve and Sam both hovering.

"Boss, you're back," Skye greeted him. "Mr. Stark here – "

"Tony – "

" – said the two of you have never met, which I find totes weird, given you've got like multiple one degrees of separation between you."

Phil had never asked her to be a buffer between him and the world. That was something she'd decided to do on her own within her first week of working at the SSR, despite his attempts to dissuade her. He had no doubt that by now she was as aware of Phil's triggers as he was himself and had tweaked to his uneasiness.

She gave him a guileless smile.

He let his own expression tell her he knew what she was doing. But he also let her perform the introductions and natter on while he and Stark exchanged wary once-overs.

Neither he or Stark had made it to Peggy's funeral; Phil unable to leave the hospital in Germany in time; Stark too busy testifying before Congress about how his partnership with Hammer Industries had not included the drone program that had literally as well as figuratively blown up all over Queens.

"Peggy spoke fondly of you," he and Stark both ended up saying, then both giving way to an uncomfortable chuckle.

"I love what you've done to the place," Stark offered next. "You've probably got more of my dad's stuff than I do," he added, along with a shark's grin. It then softened into something more genuine before Phil could take vocal umbrage. "Remind me to give you Pepper's private number before I leave. She'll know where the stuff got stored that the Smithsonian didn't use for their Nick Fury and his Howling Commandos collection. If you think you'd want it for yours. It's doing no one any good locked up in a warehouse."

For one of the few times in his life, Phil found himself speechless. He wasn't sure which was more astounding, being offered access to Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries and Stark's one-time fiancée, or being offered access to the belongings of the men who'd been his childhood heroes, the men who, alongside his father, had most influenced the man that Phil had become.

"He says thank you," Steve spoke up on Phil's behalf. "You are a remarkably generous man, Mr. Stark."

Steve did innocent better than anyone Phil had ever met. Even now he wasn't quite sure if Steve was yanking Stark's chain, or was genuinely impressed. 

By the narrowing of his eyes, it looked like Stark wasn't sure either. 

The shark smile returned. "You damn betcha I am, _Mr. Rogers_ ," Stark sniggered back, as if Steve hadn't heard Mr. Rogers jokes all his life. "I am remarkable in all – "

"Phil, are the cops still here?" Trip suddenly yelled through opening from the kitchen. "I just heard a scream and a couple of gunshots when I went out back with a load of trash."

"Jasper, see if it's been called in and if a car's been dispatched," Maria ordered, immediately taking charge. "Tell them we're handling it. Woo, Koenig, you're with me."

Phil put his hand out to stop Skye from following. He wanted nothing more than to do so himself, and he could see the same instincts surfacing in Steve, Bucky and Sam. Still, they stayed put. The last thing Captain Hill needed was a bunch of civilians getting underfoot.

There was also the matter that despite Phil knowing every customer currently seated save for Stark and Banner, it wouldn't do to have half the staff make a mass exodus and leave them – whether new customers ended up coming in or not.

"Has everyone had a chance to try one of Darcy's desserts?" he awkwardly proposed instead. "You should, my treat."

"Let me get the rundown," Skye quickly offered, obviously grateful for the opportunity to have something useful to do. "Darce, help me out with what flavors you've got left. Who all wants refills on their drinks?"

Phil ended up being pulled down into the seat Skye had vacated, not that he could really offer Stark any help other than confirming certain functions the ordering system was supposed to have. That gave him time to watch what Banner and Bucky were doing – and to wonder if he should perhaps spring for a Stark hand himself instead of settling for the one the Army had provided for him. Half of the time he didn't bother to wear the one he had now since when he did, it mostly worked as a paper weight – and felt like an anchor. He could punch buttons and do finger-swipes, as long as an actual fingerprint wasn't necessary, and he could grasp and pick up things as long as they were no smaller than the size of his palm, but anything requiring finesse or grace were beyond his current ability, and the only sensations he felt through it were phantom pain and frustration. If Stark's people really had come up with something better –

Maria returned still working in the same gear. Giving orders and asking for Trip's help, though this time she was looking for towels and some ice, instead of an account of what Trip had heard to start his whole mess rolling. There were other voices too, more indistinct. Until the sharpness of Natasha's anger cut through as she berated someone – berated Clint because now Phil could hear Laura's softer tones backing Natasha up.

For a moment Phil's breath caught. He'd never imagined the three Cirque dancers might have been involved in the altercation or attack, despite knowing they usually walked to the SSR on the nights they decided to get a bite to eat after their performance. They always cut through the back parking lots of Harrah's and walked down Audrie. With tourists still aplenty walking the Strip after midnight, and the city itself now having nearly as many security cameras in place as Manhattan, Phil had never really considered the inherent danger of walking through the back streets. Neither, obviously, had Natasha, Laura or Clint.

He was up and moving before Maria shouted out to him: "Phil, I'm going to use your office."

"And your first aid kit," she added more quietly as he banged through the door into the kitchen. "Your apartment too, if you'll let me. I've got three witnesses so I need three places to stash them while we get statements."

Phil knew her well enough by now to know she wasn't really asking for permission. He nodded anyway, his attention caught up in looking the 'witnesses' over. 

When he first moved to Vegas, Phil had spent time taking in all the sights and offerings, as a distraction and to make up for all the things he'd missed while serving. Gambling didn't really appeal to him, nor did shopping. The museums, however, along with the shows, had helped him from dwelling on all the changes his life had undergone, and he'd fallen in love with the Cirque du Soleil adaption of _Where Eagles Dare_ well before he recognized that several of the dancers regularly ate at the SSR. Having a thing for one of the leads might have had him going to see repeats of the show a little more regularly than he otherwise would have, but Phil would like to think his breath would have caught in his throat anyway as he watched Natasha and Laura support Clint so Clint could keep his right foot clear of the ground while they crossed through the large kitchen and storage area from the back door. Clint otherwise looked fine, if a little grim. Natasha was the one showing blood, from both a split lip and a scratch or cut across her cheek, whereas Laura already had the marking of a black eye. Maria would have called for a bus if any of them had been shot or seriously injured, however, so Phil simply let out the breath as he satisfied himself that they'd escaped essentially unscathed; prayers or thanking god really wasn't his style.

"Is this where one of you says 'yeah, but you should see the other guy?'" Trip asked, returning from the cold storage area with the requested towel and a mixing bowl full of ice.

"Considering the other guy is dead, probably not," Jasper snorted, then blushed when Maria gave him a stern-looking frown,

"Shit, man, I didn't – "

"Nah, my bad," Jasper cut off Trip with a wave. "You're curious and, from looking at our twinkle-toes trio, anyone would have made the same quip. The dead guy's the alleged assailant, these guys were brave but foolhardy good Samaritans, and the initial victim looks like she's going to be alright, so that's all to the good. And … and I'm going to shut up now," he concluded as Maria's expression grew thunderous and even Officer Koenig looked like he was going to say something to plug up Jasper's verbal diarrhea.

"What part of don't taint the witness statements do you not understand, Detective Sitwell? Jesus Christ on a crutch." Maria threw her hands up in defeat and resignation. "Phil, please, I really need to separate these three right away. This place has an elevator, right? From when Miss Carter lived upstairs?"

Phil nodded.

"Okay. Good." She grabbed the bowl of ice from Trip and handed Phil the towels. "I'll take Mr. Barton up there, then, so he can get a more comfortable seat and start icing his knee. If you give me a hand, you won't have to give me the key."

And wouldn't have any opportunity to clean up, but other than dust from his week away, Phil was pretty sure he'd left things tidy; most of a year out hadn't been enough time to override a lifetime of Army training.

"Officer Koenig, take Mrs. Barton to Phil's office and Sitwell, you get Ms. Romanoff, at the front counter, I guess," Maria continued. "Shit, no," she corrected herself. "Stark is still out there."

"The garage?" Phil suggested, heading over to trade places with Laura. This wasn't how he'd wanted to invite Clint up to his apartment –

"Hell, yeah!" Jasper exclaimed, his face lighting up." Can we sit in your –"

"No!. I mean it, Jasper," Phil added when Jasper turned on the puppy-dog eyes. "Don't even touch Lola.

"Who is Lola?" Laura asked.

"His pe – midlife crisis mobile," Jasper managed to censor himself with a slightly less insulting term, no doubt because, technically, he was back on duty. And he'd finally seemed to get that he was standing in front of his boss' boss.

"She's a '62 Vette," Phil explained, surprised not in the least to discover the superb definition of Clint's body wasn't faked by makeup and costuming as he gripped Clint's waist and helped him readjust to taller helpers.

Laura's expression showed a little more interest than Natasha's as she switched out with Maria, but it was obvious neither woman was a car person.

"Convertible?" Clint asked with a twist of his head to look over at Phil.

"Of course." Phil had started to turn his head too as he replied, until he realized just how close that would put their lips to one another. Compared to both Laura and Natasha, Clint had seemed taller, not just Phil's height. Phil quickly turned toward Jasper and Natasha instead.

"There is a bench out there that Fitz dragged in from somewhere. He likes to sit out there and keep Mack company when Mack's doing maintenance on the various vehicles."

"Does everyone who works here also live here?"

Maria's tone was mostly mocking, but Phil thought he caught a whiff of envy too. Although Vegas was still on the down more than upside of the housing bust, that bust had come after an unimaginable boom, and housing prices were still beyond most single income earners, even if they were a police captain. By him offering room and board along with a very modest salary and benefits package in lieu of a living wage, Phil had been given the opportunity to learn his business without hemorrhaging cash and going into the hole when he made the inevitable mistakes. His own needs and expenses were modest too – outside of his memorabilia collection – which allowed him, so far, to keep up with the property taxes without having to go into his savings.

'What else was I going to do with nearly twelve thousand square feet, not including the damn restaurant? Skye shares with Jane, Darcy, and Jemma Simmons on the second floor, while Mack, Trip and Fitz share the apartment across from them. Bobby and Lance are above the guys on the third, while Melinda lives alone across from him. I've got the end apartment that spans both floors."

"Sounds even better that I imagined, though this wasn't how I thought I'd get my first look –"

"Oh my god, Clint!" Laura blurted.

"What?" he asked, trying to twist back far enough to see her, as the office was on the way to both the garage and the elevator.

"I believe she is questioning your timing, _Tryap'ka_ ," Natasha said with a smile wide enough to split her lip again and have it start bleeding once more. She rolled her eyes when Jasper quickly found a handkerchief and handed it over, but she still dabbed delicately at the wound as she said; "Only you would wait until you're potentially going to be arrested to make your move."

"What move? Wait! I'm going to be arrested? You're the one who – "

"Just all of you, shut the fuck up!" Maria roared. "God, no wonder I don't work in the field anymore."

"But – "

"No. Save it until you're upstairs."

"Captain – "

"Not even you, Koenig. No talking until you're alone with your witness. No questions, no flirting, no teasing… no speculation over what Howard Stark was compensating for by building a snowbird home that looks like Falling Waters and an old Spanish mission mated and had a baby. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't feel the need to make it bigger … "

Maria's mutterings were unfair, coming after they did with her command of silence; Phil had said pretty much the same thing when he'd first seen the property: That it looked like Frank Lloyd Wright had thrown up on Hollywood's version of a west coast mission. Something he thought Clint would appreciate hearing. Something he _knew_ Jasper would.

It also didn't help that he and Clint were both shaking from suppressing their sniggers. Fortunately, Maria didn't do anything other than give them the stink eye as she stopped them in front of the elevator and stabbed at the up button, though that might have been for Jasper, who wasn't quite as successful at keeping his merriment at bay as he and Natasha continued down the hall.

Once inside, Phil pressed the button for the third floor and then he and Maria automatically moved Clint back, though it was unlikely someone else was going to get on at two to go up. The crew that ran the day shift were well abed, or so Phil presumed, but he supposed good habits were never a mistake. He found the silence awkward, but at least the trip was quick. And there was no Muzak. It wasn't fast enough that Phil didn't have time to wonder just what Clint's comment – along with Laura and Natasha's reaction to said comment – meant, unfortunately. And to worry if he was wrong.

It wasn't like he actually knew Clint, not beyond the superficial things, like what he did for a living, which sports teams he rooted for, and that Natasha was his best friend but not his lover, while Laura was his brother's wife, not Clint's. Half of that information along with a few other odd tidbits, Phil had overheard from the trio's conversations over the last six or seven months, not things that Clint had actually told him.

Clint had come in alone a few times during Phil's shift, however, more frequently in the last several weeks. A couple of times had even been when the show was dark, so those weren't necessarily just a stop on Clint's way home. Usually on those occasions, Clint would nurse a cup of coffee and ask Phil about the items in his collection, always singling out the new pieces from the last time he'd been in.

Had those been precursor dates? The type of thing other people did in asking one another out for a cup of coffee? Obviously, for one of them to ask the other out for coffee, such an asking would take on more significant meaning than simply testing the waters.

"Ah, I'm going to have to let go to get the door open," Phil admitted as they reached his apartment, embarrassed for not realizing it beforehand. While he hadn't hid his prosthetic, not once Bucky had started coming by at least, he'd never particularly discussed it outside of sessions with Sam and Group, much less disclosed his limitations because of it, but he suspected that wasn't going to be the scariest thing he did in the next hour.

"I'm not good sorting my keys with my left hand." Phil wasn't real good at pulling them out of his right trousers' pocket with his left hand either; they got the gist and offered expression of understanding. Without pity, he was grateful to note.

"Just prop me against the wall so Captain Hill doesn't have to support too much of my weight."

Phil nodded, then carefully slid out from under Clint's arm and took care of business. "Oh, and there are stairs, just a couple leading down from the foyer. If you support yourself with your hand on my shoulder as I go down first, it will probably be easier than the three of us trying to maneuver together."

Which is what they did, getting Clint down to Phil's couch. Phil then grabbed a pillow so Clint could rest his leg on the coffee table in front, before fashioning the cobbled together ice pack.

Although Phil was pretty sure Maria had wanted to separate Clint, Natasha and Laura so that they wouldn't influence each other's account and memories of what had gone down, he didn't figure either of them really wanted him as an audience while Clint gave his statement.

"Clint, you, Natasha and Laura were coming here to get your usual after show dinner, right? I'll go down and get trays arranged. Maria, do you want more tea or some coffee brought up for you?"

"Coffee, please. And one of Darcy's muffins, it doesn't matter what flavor as long as it isn't poppy seed."

"Worried about a surprise drug test, Captain Hill?"

The smile Maria gave Clint wasn't all that friendly. "Just don't like the texture, if it's any of your business, Mr. Barton. Do you have any more smart-ass remarks you want to get out of the way, or can we get down to business?"

"I imagine I'll do both," Clint said with a wink Phil's direction. "Hey, Phil?" he then called out as Phil turned to head back toward the front door.

Phil paused.

"Thanks, man. If this room is any indication, your place must be amazing. Hell, _you're_ amazing. Fury was cool, but I'm really glad you moved here and took over."

"I never would have imagined it, but I'm damn glad I moved here too, Clint. And I can't wait to show you the rest of my apartment."

– finis –


End file.
